


Dyad

by dancewithme19



Category: Glee
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-02
Updated: 2013-05-02
Packaged: 2017-12-10 04:30:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 14,994
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/781800
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dancewithme19/pseuds/dancewithme19
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The story of two boys, and how they learn to communicate.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**1999**

 

“Mommy!”

 

Her blood spikes at the note of fear piercing through her little son’s voice. The response is involuntary, because, honestly, she knows better. She knows her son. Still, she swivels her chair around to meet his pattering, panicked footsteps.

 

“In here, darling!”

 

He careens around the doorway and runs to her, eyes wide and round.

 

“Mommy, you have to come quick! There’s a spider, and it’s _huge_ , and it’s on the wall by my bed. You have to come get it!”

 

She tamps down her smile, because his face is so serious, and he doesn’t like to feel laughed at. She runs a hand through his hair, loosening up the gel he applied so meticulously this morning, standing on his Spiderman stepstool in front of the bathroom mirror. He has such lovely hair. It’s a shame he won’t let her grow it out.

 

“Spiders won’t hurt you, Blainey, you know that. Remember Charlotte?”

 

“I _know_ , but – ”

 

“Do you think you can be a brave boy and let him be?”

 

Blaine swallows and nods, uncertain. He bites his lips together and looks away, and she wants to gather him to her, but she doesn’t. He’s getting so big. He’ll be ready to start kindergarten in less than a year.

 

“What if he gets in my sheets and bites me while I’m sleeping?”

 

It comes out no louder than a whisper. She can’t resist. She tips up his little face with a gentle finger under his chin, meeting his eyes with a smile, warm as the tender spot in her heart with his name written all over.

 

“Why don’t you go find your brother, darling? I’m sure he’d be thrilled to take care of it for you.”

 

“Can’t _you_ do it? Cooper always kills them.”

 

“I’m sure he’ll let him out the window if you ask nicely.”

 

Blaine looks at her a moment like he’s going to protest once more, or maybe plead with his liquid-gold eyes, and she’ll give in and lose even _more_ time, and this is supposed to be her afternoon to work.

 

He doesn’t, though. He smiles at her tremulously and says, “Okay, Mommy,” and tears out of the room.

 

“Be careful on the stairs, Blainey!” she calls. She can’t help it – those things have been the cause of more than one scraped knee and quite a few tears. He is bigger now, though, and more graceful than Cooper was at his age.

 

More sensitive, too. It worries her sometimes.

 

But not now. Now, he’s safe, and he’s got his brother to look after him, and a lifetime to harden himself against the world’s cruelties. Now, he can just be her little boy.

 

&&&&&

 

He’s huddled on his bed, curled up like he’s trying to protect his heart from the world. Like armor. Tears sting at her eyes, sudden and terrible, and she lets herself breathe through it for a moment before coming any further into his room. She has to be a rock for him.

 

She knocks, gently, on the doorframe to let him know she’s there, and moves to sit beside him on his little twin-sized bed. His first big kid bed, without rails or anything. He was so proud last year when he picked it out, even if she wouldn’t let him get the one with the princess canopy.

 

She places a hand gently on his back and rubs small circles. He feels so little under her palm, delicate and fragile, even though she knows he’s not.

 

“I’m here, sweetheart,” she murmurs. “Do you want to talk about it?”

 

She hears a sniffle, loud and heartbreaking (if maybe a little exaggerated), and he shakes his head.

 

“Daddy told me that some of the kids were mean to you at school today.”

 

He nods.

 

“He said he told you they’re all just a bunch of mean little jerkfaces who deserve to be gobbled up by a toad.”

 

He giggles a little, against his will, and turns his face just slightly, enough that she can see his eyes. They’re red around the rim, and there are dried tear tracks on his chubby little cheeks, but he’s smiling now. There he is. There’s her Kurt.

 

“Yeah.”

 

She smiles back at him and brushes his bangs off of his forehead. She waits.

 

“Jeremy stole my lunchbox, and he wouldn’t give it back.”

 

He looks so bone-deep _hurt_ at that, she wants to gather him close in her arms and rock him until he’s smiling again. She knows, though. She knows her son, and she knows she has to wait. She keeps her hand steady and strong where it rests against his back.

 

“That is mean.”

 

“It was the _Wizard of Oz_ one with Dorothy and Toto and the ruby slippers.”

 

His favorite birthday present last year. She knows.

 

“Did Miss Blakely make him give it back?”

 

“Yes, but he _ruined_ it, Mommy!”

 

“How so?”

 

“He took it, and he threw it to his friends, and he wouldn’t let me have it, and he said only _girls_ like _Wizard of Oz_ , which is stupid, because _I’m_ not a girl, and then stupid Troy McDonald let it fall on _purpose_ , and now it’s ruined!”

 

He’s worked himself up, now, mostly mad and still a little sad, but he’s sitting up and red-faced and on the verge of tears once more.

 

“Can I see it?”

 

He nods. He gets up, gingerly, and retrieves the lunchbox from where he left it on the floor. He hands it over without looking, like it hurts too much.

 

It mostly looks fine. Just a dent in the corner that she’s sure Burt can fix in a jiffy, and a nasty scratch over Dorothy’s prized slippers.

 

“See!” he says, almost triumphant. “Ruined.”

 

“I don’t think so. Daddy and I should be able to fix it up good as new. Maybe even better. In fact, I bet we could find some glitter and make these slippers really shine. What do you say?”

 

His face starts to brighten, cautiously.

 

“You really think we could make it _better_?”

 

She smiles and nods, and he smiles, too, and there isn’t even a trace, there, of the sadness he’s been carrying all afternoon.

 

“Can we go do it now?”

 

Her smile widens.

 

“Of course, baby.”

 

“Well, what are you waiting for? Let’s go!”

 

He grabs her hand and pulls her in the direction of the stairs. She laughs and lets herself be pulled.

 

This isn’t the end, she knows. They’ll have to have a talk with him later about teasing and bullying and set up a meeting with his teacher. She’ll do everything in her power to make sure he knows what a special boy he is, and how strong. He’ll know that they love him, and that they will always put him first, no matter what, and that he shouldn’t have to change because other people are narrow-minded Neanderthals.

 

But, for now, this is enough.


	2. Chapter 2

**2004**

 

Blaine is cross-legged on the bed, looking down at the script and drumming his fingers against his knee. Almost like he’s _bored_.

 

“Are you even paying attention?”

 

He looks up, eyes wide.

 

“Yeah, Coop. Of course.”

 

“’Cause this is really important, Blainey. If this audition goes well, it could skyrocket my entire career.”

 

Blaine blinks, hard, like he’s trying not to roll his eyes, and while Cooper appreciates the effort, it’s really not worth much if Blaine can’t _commit_ to it. He’s about to say as much, but Blaine cuts him off.

 

“I didn’t know a supporting role in the Lima Playhouse production of _The Music Man_ counted as a career.”

 

“Fine. It could _start_ my career, then. This could mean big things for me.”

 

Blaine opens his mouth, then closes it again. He sighs.

 

“Yeah. You’re right. I’m sorry, I’ll pay better attention this time.”

 

He smiles and waits, watching Cooper expectantly.

 

That’s better.

 

Cooper clears his throat, shakes out his arms, rolls his neck. He clears his throat again. He needs to be loose for this. He needs to be his best. It would mean getting _paid_.

 

He looks down, breathes in. Once, twice. He’s ready. He looks up, plastering his biggest and brightest smile all over his face, the one that makes the girls at the Lima Bean leave him extra-generous tips and slip their phone numbers into the jar.

 

“Hey, you!” He points at Blaine with an improvised flourish. He winks, and oh, god, that’s _genius_. He’s totally getting this part. “Yeah, you! Do you like saving money on car insurance? What about home owners’ insurance? _Life_ insurance? ‘Cause we sure do, and we want to help _you_! Come on down and join us at Lima’s own Titan Insurance and get a free quote today. And remember, Titan Insurance is quality insurance – _guaranteed_. Find out how much you can save, _today_!” He winks again, rakish and charming, and holds it for a few seconds before dropping his head down. “Scene.”

 

“That was way better,” says Blaine a moment later, after he’s let it sink in. He’s smiling – impressed, probably, with the new directions that Cooper is taking his physical acting. It felt awesome. “You were totally off book that time.”

 

Cooper waits a moment for Blaine to collect his thoughts, but he appears to be done. He averts his gaze.

 

Something sinks a little in Cooper’s chest. He ignores it.

 

“Well, yeah, but what did you _think_? I mean, would you buy insurance from this face?” He smiles, to demonstrate.

 

“Um. Yeah, sure, of course I would. I mean, you’re my brother.”

 

It sinks a little further. He shoves it away.

 

“Should I get my teeth whitened? Or – I know! Do you think there’s enough pointing?”

 

“Yes. Definitely enough pointing. It’s just…”

 

“What? Come on, Blainey, spit it out, would you?”

 

Blaine pauses, biting his lip reluctantly, and Cooper is just starting to get annoyed at his dramatics when he finally opens his mouth to reply.

 

“I just…wonder if this is really a good move for you. Career-wise, I mean.”

 

“What? Why?”

 

“The script is so…corny. The production values are probably terrible, and I’m sure they wouldn’t be paying you very much.”

 

Cooper scoffs.

 

“Of course they won’t. It’ll be my first gig, I’m not expecting a fortune. But, you know, as they say, there are no small parts – ” He pauses, lets it sit, holds out the tension. Blaine watches him, waiting. “ – only small actors.”

 

He winks, and Blaine smiles thinly back. Cooper throws himself onto the bed beside his brother and slings an arm over his shoulders. Blaine’s got his skinny little arms crossed over his chest.

 

“You just wait. This is only the beginning for me, squirt. Soon, I’ll be famous and you’ll be saying ‘I knew him when.’ Just you wait.”

 

Blaine’s smile drops. Cooper jostles his shoulder, hoping to knock the serious out of him. God knows Blaine needs it. Blaine looks up and smiles once more.

 

“Yeah, you’re right. Did you want to run it again?”

 

“Not today. I really feel like I’m getting the hang of this thing. I don’t want to mess up my flow.”

 

Blaine nods. He uncrosses his arms, holds them loosely in his lap.

 

“Okay. Do you think…?” He stops.

 

“What?”

 

“It’s nothing. I was just…you know how I have that concert on Saturday?”

 

“The choir thing, right.”

 

“Yeah. I was just going to go practice, and I thought maybe you might want to listen?”

 

“You want some tips from your big brother? Of course! I’m always happy to lend my expertise.”

 

“Okay, great. I’ll just go get my music.”

 

Blaine hops off the bed with one last smile, a real Blaine smile this time, the kind that makes Cooper feel about ten feet tall. He can’t help but smile back.

 

This will be good. He’s heard snippets of Blaine practicing in his room, and he’s on the right track. He still has that tendency to go pitchy when the choreography is too complicated or he gets too into the song, but he can fix that with a little guidance. He’s talented, and he’s got Cooper. He’ll be fine.

 

Cooper flops back on his bed, thoughts drifting once more to his upcoming audition.

 

He has a good feeling about this one. He’s right on the verge of being discovered, he knows it, and then he can finally move out of his parents’ house and get his ass on a plane to LA. Once he gets there, everything will fall into place. He’ll get an agent, he’ll land the starring role in an oh-so-charming, instantly-popular pilot for a major network, and that will be that.

 

He’ll have fans, lots of them, girls who are so overcome that they cry when they meet him and women who ask him to sign their breasts. He’ll present at the Emmys _and_ the Golden Globes. He’ll be interviewed by Ellen and tell fond, quirky stories about his small-town upbringing.

 

His family will come out to visit him, and he’ll get them into the swankiest celebrity restaurants without a reservation and put the whole meal on his card. His father will beam at him with pride.

 

And Blaine will never, never stop looking at him with stars in his eyes.

 

He just needs to get through this audition first.

 

&&&&&

 

Meetings like this one are always uncomfortable. Especially with someone like Burt Hummel, whose interpersonal style can best be described as “gruff.” He’s a man’s man, raising a son who is anything but. She can’t imagine that it’s been easy for either of them.

 

“First of all,” she says, with the brightest smile she can manage. “I’d like to congratulate you on raising such a bright kid. I can tell you right away that I have no concerns for your son academically. He is extremely creative and intelligent, as I’m sure you know.”

 

He grunts in acknowledgement. “Gets it from his mother.”

 

“His weakest subject is math, but he still manages to do quite well.”

 

“That, he gets from me.”

 

She smiles, but it fades quickly.

 

“His…difficulties are really more social. He does have the skills to make friends, I think, but he seems to find it…difficult.”

 

He raises his eyebrows, but, otherwise, his expression gives nothing away. She unfolds her hands and reaches up to pluck at the pendant hanging right between her collarbones, at the base of her throat. It’s a nervous tell that she hates.

 

“Is that so?”

 

“He has a few friends, but no one he seems particularly close to. I did wonder if maybe it might have something to do with your wife’s passing.”

 

He freezes for a moment, glances down. He fiddles with the baseball cap in his hands.

 

“Well, I’m not gonna lie and say it’s not possible.”

 

“But you don’t think so.”

 

He looks up and meets her eyes. Gone is the mild politeness that’s been there since they shook hands across her desk. His gaze is sharp and cutting.

 

“I just wonder, is all. He’s never had the easiest time making friends. I wonder if that’s really down to him.”

 

“He isn’t being bullied, if that’s what you mean. The occasional teasing, perhaps, but no more than any other kid. It’s bound to happen in a class of this size, no matter what precautions we take to prevent it.”

 

He eyes her for a moment, skeptically.

 

“Look. Can I be frank here?”

 

“Please.”

 

“I don’t know about you, but I remember being 11 years old. And I can tell you now, there is no way that I would have been friends with a kid like Kurt. I would have been more likely to throw spitballs at him. I’m not proud of that, of course, but it’s the truth. I know how cruel kids can be to people who are different.”

 

She’s taken slightly aback at his candor, but she takes care not to show it on her face.

 

“You’re probably right, Mr. Hummel. Your son certainly is different. And it’s not entirely his fault that he doesn’t fit in. But there are some suggestions I could offer that might make things a little easier for him. I would never want to stifle his individuality, of course, but some of his…eccentricities might be better suited for a home environment. Especially as he gets older.”

 

He narrows his eyes and crosses his arms over his chest.

 

“Like what, exactly?”

 

“Well, for instance, some of his clothes might better serve as weekend wear.”

 

“He get picked on for his clothes?”

 

“Sometimes.”

 

He thinks for a moment, eyes still slightly narrowed.

 

She waits. She can be patient. She has a strong feeling that this meeting would go south very quickly if she weren’t.

 

Finally, he shifts in his seat and sighs.

 

“You may have a point. I don’t like it, but there it is. I know he gets lonely sometimes. It would be good for him to have some kids his own age to talk to.”

 

“I’ll do what I can from this end, Mr. Hummel, but you should think about what I said. Give him a safe space at home and maybe set up a few rules about what is and isn’t appropriate to wear to school. Encourage him to participate in school activities, maybe even a sports team. He’s a lovely kid. I really just want to make sure that his classmates get a chance to find that out for themselves.”

 

He nods, thoughtful.

 

“Thanks. I’ll think about it. Is that it, then?”

 

“Oh, yes. Unless you have any more concerns you wish to discuss?”

 

He shakes his head.

 

“Nope.”

 

“Alright. Until next time, then.”

 

He stands up and shakes her hand one last time.

 

“Have a nice night,” he says, smoothing his cap back over his head as he ambles over to the open door.

 

She waits until after he’s left to sigh. She’s still optimistic they can make something good happen for Kurt – give him enough guidance now that he can navigate the rocky teenage years without drowning.

 

She can’t help but worry, though.


	3. Chapter 3

**2009**

 

“Blaine, wait.”

 

He stops, pauses, turns around reluctantly. He schools his face quickly, but David Anderson is a perceptive man.

 

“Hi, Dad! I, um. Didn’t expect you to be home so early.”

 

“I took the afternoon off and hit the links. I thought maybe I’d take you out to the driving range this weekend, figured I’d better get in shape for it.”

 

“Oh. Sure. Yeah, that’d be great.”

 

He shoots a quick smile that doesn’t touch his eyes and turns to go.

 

That’s when David notices.

 

“Hold on,” he says. It comes out more sternly than he intended. Blaine stops short. He turns around.

 

“Yes?”

 

David doesn’t respond. He barely even _hears_ , he’s so focused on his son’s face. His eye, specifically, and the discoloration he can see clear as day beneath the shoddy attempt at cover-up.

 

“Did you get in a fight today, Blaine?”

 

He’s not sure which answer he wants least to hear.

 

Blaine’s hand shoots up to his eye, mouth gaping slightly open with panic.

 

“Of course not, no!”

 

“Well then, what _happened_?”

 

Blaine swallows, hard.

 

It’s a gift, really, that his face is still so expressive. David doesn’t always think so, not knowing what he knows about the world, but at times like this, he can’t help but be grateful. He knows his son is about to tell him the truth.

 

“It was someone at school.”

 

“He _hit_ you? Without provocation?”

 

“It was more of a shove that went wrong. I don’t think he wanted to hurt me. Just – put me in my place.”

 

His eyes flash with anger and shift away.

 

David is angry, too. Rage flares hot in his belly at the very idea of it, the image of Blaine, his Blaine, his _son_ , at the mercy of some beefhead jock with biceps the size of his neck. Blaine is so little and so…gentle. Such an easy target.

 

His jaw clenches.

 

“Did you tell anyone?”

 

Blaine bites his lip.

 

“I reported it to the principal. I mean, I’m not the only one he picks on, Dad.”

 

“How long has this been going on?”

 

“Just a little while.”

 

“Blaine.”

 

He glances up at the clear warning in David’s voice, eyes wide and skittering.

 

“Since September.”

 

“ _Blaine_.” It’s more of an exhale than a word, but that’s all he’s capable of in this moment. “Why didn’t you _say_ anything?”

 

“There’s nothing to say. I’m taking care of it.”

 

And even through the storm of emotion that’s clogging his throat, there’s still this flash of pride that cuts through like lightning, because _that’s_ his son, _that’s_ his boy. It’s all David’s ever wanted, to raise his son strong and independent.

 

And yet.

 

“What did the principal say?”

 

Blaine’s eyes flicker away. He hugs his arms to his body. It’s an unconscious move, and it makes David’s heart sink.

 

“What he always says. That I need eyewitnesses if I want to get anything accomplished. That the incident was ‘unfortunate,’ but there’s nothing he can do.”

 

His voice is tight, and so is his face, and, everything, really, about him. Like he’s holding something in, something so big he’ll burst if he lets it out. For the first time in a long time, David feels the instinct to wrap his arms around his son. He could use the extra armor.

 

But Blaine is in high school, now. He’s almost a man, old enough to fend for himself and old enough to control his own emotions.

 

“Well, you let us know if it escalates, alright? I don’t want you getting hurt.”

 

Blaine nods, hurriedly, gaze shifting longingly to the stairs.

 

“I’m proud of you, Blaine.”

 

His eyes shoot over, wide and overwhelmed. He presses his lips around the beginnings of a smile. He blinks. His eyes have gone glassy. David claps a hand on his shoulder and squeezes.

 

“Thank you.”

 

David smiles and lets go. Blaine lingers a moment longer, looks at David like there’s something else he wants to say, but he smiles instead. A bigger smile, this time. He turns around and heads upstairs.

 

David stands there for a few moments longer. He feels frozen to the spot, weighed down with the force of the emotions still running their course through his body.

 

Maybe he’ll take Blaine with him to the gym this weekend, instead.

 

&&&&&

 

It’s during a commercial break that he notices.

 

Kurt is sitting there, curled up in the armchair, just as absorbed in his Vogue as he’s been the whole game. It’s a new thing, but Burt likes that they can be together like this, even though they have different interests. Kurt used to retreat to his room whenever Burt put a game on. Burt never asked him what he was doing down there.

 

He’s looking fondly at his son out of the corner of his eye, about to ask him something or other about that damn magazine, but suddenly it doesn’t matter so much, because –

 

“Is that the same outfit you were wearing this morning?”

 

He could have sworn Kurt was wearing a sky-blue sweater-dress-thing when he breezed out the door this morning. This one is more…gray.

 

Kurt looks up, startled, then looks down at his clothes.

 

“Oh, yes. I was. I got slushied after third period. But don’t worry, I got to a bathroom before the stain set. It would have been murder trying to get red dye number two out of cashmere blend.”

 

“Wait – _slushied_?”

 

“It’s not that big of a deal. The jocks do it to all the glee kids. It’s their way of reinforcing the caste system.”

 

He rolls his eyes and goes back to his magazine, but Burt is nowhere near finished.

 

“So you’re telling me that a bunch of guys in letterman jackets go around throwing slushies at my kid, and your school _allows_ this?”

 

Kurt looks up.

 

“Pretty much. It totally sucks, but there’s nothing we can do about it except keep our lockers stocked with a change of clothes and a quality detergent.”

 

“Does the principal know about this?”

 

“It’s kind of hard to miss. He says his hands are tied.”

 

And the sad thing is, that’s not the stupidest thing Burt’s heard Principal Figgins say.

 

“That’s it. I’m making an appointment for tomorrow, and I’m gonna give that jackass a piece of my mind. No one can sit and watch as my kid gets bullied and get away with it.”

 

Kurt’s eyes have gone wide, and he’s sitting forward in his chair, magazine forgotten and sliding off his lap.

 

“No, Dad, that’s not necessary. Really.”

 

“You can’t just expect me to sit back and watch this happen, Kurt. Not with what you spend on your clothes.”

 

Kurt smiles faintly and ducks his head, and Burt counts that as a success.

 

“Listen, kid. I want you to feel safe to be who you are at school. It’s the school’s job to make that happen.”

 

“Thanks, Dad.”

 

“Just doing my job.”

 

The game’s back on by now, so Kurt goes back to his magazine and Burt focuses back on the Phillies. They’re not his team, but anything’s better than the goddamn Yankees.

 

He sneaks glances at his son every once in a while, when the action is in a lull. He looks…happy. Relaxed. Burt hates that it took them this long to get on the same page, but now that they’re there, things are looking good. He’s going to make sure they stay that way. He’s going to pay attention, and he’s going to listen, and he’s going to make sure that Kurt doesn’t have to shout anymore to be heard.

 

Even if that means he has to do the shouting himself.


	4. Chapter 4

**2010**

 

Kurt flops face first onto his bed, exhausted enough that he hasn’t even bothered to take off his uniform jacket. It’s been a long day.

 

The bed is soft and a little weird beneath him. He doesn’t exactly miss his saggy old twin, but this one doesn’t feel quite right yet. It isn’t accustomed to his body.

 

He closes his eyes and wiggles a little until he’s spread out and comfortable as can be. He’s going to give himself five minutes, no more, no less, to lie here and let his brain drift and just _breathe_. He sinks down into his pillow, already heavier with relaxation. He could go under, easily, even if he would wake up hating himself for it. It would feel so good right now to give in and stop resisting the pull…

 

Of course, it’s at this moment that his phone chirps at him. He’s maybe a little grateful, but mostly just annoyed. So help him, if this is Rachel following up on their recent détente-turned-friendship to complain about his stepbrother, he’s hanging up without a word of explanation. They aren’t _that_ close.

 

With a groan, he rolls over and yanks his phone off of his nightstand. He takes a cursory glance at the screen and stops.

 

It’s _Blaine_.

 

He runs a stupid hand through the styling of his bangs, then rolls his eyes at himself. He takes a deep breath, calms the sudden pounding of his heart, and presses “Accept.”

 

“Hi,” he says, and it’s more breathless than he would ideally like.

 

“Hey, Kurt! Are you busy with family stuff right now, or can you talk?”

 

“I can talk.”

 

It’s technically true. Even if his father is expecting him downstairs in, oh god, 20 minutes now.

 

“Really?”

 

There’s something so grateful there, at the heart of his voice, that every last one of Kurt’s reservations sublimates into the ether.

 

“As long as you don’t mind listening to me moisturize.”

 

“Of course not. I do understand the importance of good skin care.”

 

Kurt smiles, big and ridiculous, and it’s a good thing that Blaine can’t see him right now. He makes his way over to his vanity, puts Blaine on speaker, and starts pulling out his vast array of cleansers and creams.

 

“So, are you calling for a reason or just for the pleasure of my company?”

 

“The latter, actually. Is that okay?”

 

His smile only grows. 

 

“Of course. Are your parents still out?”

 

“Oh, yeah. I probably won’t see them until the morning.”

 

“They’re going to be out _all night_?”

 

“Not _all_ night, no. But they don’t usually make it home from these things before 1 AM.”

 

“I thought it was just a business dinner.”

 

“There’s no such thing as _just_ a business dinner.”

 

Kurt’s still getting to know him, of course, even if he does consider Blaine his best friend, so it isn’t entirely shocking that he’s never heard this particular bitter twist to his voice. It makes him want to back away almost as much as he wants to press on.

 

“It’s too bad they couldn’t come see you.”

 

“They’ll watch the recording. It’s fine. It was really generous of your dad to make me a copy.”

 

“It really wasn’t a problem.”

 

There’s a pause. It’s almost awkward, which is rare between them. Blaine clears his throat.

 

“Did you have fun tonight? I know it must have been kind of weird, competing against your friends.”

 

“It would only have been weird if we’d beat them.”

 

“They were really good. We’re going to have to up our game for Regionals.”

 

“I couldn’t agree more. What do you think the council would say to a Stephen Sondheim medley?”

 

“Oh, my god, that would be completely awesome! But I’m not sure the council would agree, to be honest. They’re more into Top 40, in case you hadn’t noticed. Adding complexity to simple melodies, that kind of thing. I don’t think Sondheim’s going to fit the bill.”

 

Kurt deflates. It’s silly, though, because he was kind of expecting that.

 

“What are you thinking, then?”

 

“Well, we definitely need better choreography. That much is clear. And I think we’re going to have to pull out the big guns.”

 

“Big guns?”

 

“Two words: Destiny’s Child.”

 

Kurt can’t help it. He laughs.

 

“Oh, god, can you imagine Wes’ face if you stood up on Monday and suggested that we do ‘Bootylicious’ in eight-part harmony?”

 

Blaine snorts.

 

“It might be worth it to find out.”

 

Kurt snickers, and Blaine joins in, and god, but Kurt loves his laugh. It dies down soon enough to a warm silence that Kurt is almost loath to break.

 

“You’re right, though. We would totally rock some Beyoncé.”

 

“Yeah?”

 

“Obviously.”

 

“I’ll start working on my pitch right away.”

 

The thing is, Kurt’s pretty sure he doesn’t need to. He’s got the council wrapped around his little finger, as far as Kurt can tell. They didn’t even make him audition for his solos at Sectionals.

 

And Kurt gets it, he honestly does. Blaine is _special_. He’s talented in a way that so few people are – he gets on a stage, in front of an audience, and it’s like…sunlight glowing beneath his skin. Your eyes follow him, you can’t help it, and soon enough, you’ve been drawn into his orbit. He wasn’t made to sway in the background.

 

There are times when Kurt would almost literally kill to have that. When he thinks of the time and effort and _screaming_ it took to get Mr. Schue to even consider giving him a competition solo, or the blank robot smiles the Warblers flashed him as they golf-clapped for his Sectionals audition… Kurt’s got nothing but his voice to rely on. He just has to hope that someday it will be _enough_.

 

There’s a sudden flash of pain in his right cheek. He flinches, and blinks, and realizes that he’s lost track of himself and rubbed toner just a smidge too hard into his cheekbones. It’s also at this moment that he realizes he’s left a silence where it has no right to be.

 

“You do that. Let me know if I can be of service.”

 

“But of course, my good sir. I’m going to need all the back-up I can get.”

 

That’s the other thing. Blaine would be so much easier to resent if he was at all aware of the power he has in that choir room. And if he weren’t so _dreamy_ , god.

 

“Do you have any other bright ideas I should know about?”

 

“A couple. But you’re going to have to wait and see like everyone else.”

 

“I can’t even pull best friend privilege?”

 

His heart stops, when he realizes what he’s just said. But Blaine just laughs.

 

“Sorry, no can do. Hey, speaking of best friends, did you manage to catch up with Mercedes? I know it’s been a while since you’ve been able to see each other.”

 

Kurt melts just a little more inside and proceeds to fill Blaine in on the most recent New Directions gossip, straight from the source. It’s funny, because he’d assumed, when he first met Blaine, that he would frown upon such things, but he’s actually kind of thirsty for it. He has an annoying habit of playing devil’s advocate (“Maybe she was just lonely. That doesn’t make her _crazy_ , Kurt. Even if it isn’t, um, the classiest thing in the world to sleep with your boyfriend’s best friend”), but he always listens with wide eyes and gasps in all the right spots.

 

Suddenly, there’s a knock at his door.

 

“Come in!” he calls.

 

The door opens, and his dad’s head peeks around it.

 

“You coming, kid? We’ve got the movie cued up and ready to go.”

 

Oh. Right. Kurt takes quick stock of himself. He’s still wearing his uniform, jacket and all. He stopped somewhere around halfway through his regimen, caught up in retelling the saga of Brittany and the magic comb, as relayed by Mercedes-through-Artie, and thrilling in Blaine’s low murmurs of disbelief.

 

“Just a few minutes, Dad.”

 

“It’s been almost half an hour, Kurt. Let’s wrap this up.”

 

He leaves and Kurt holds back a sigh.

 

“Sounds like you’ve got to go, huh?”

 

Kurt wants so desperately to say no.

 

“I – wait.” An idea hits him. “How do you feel about James Bond?”

 

“Love Daniel Craig, think Pierce Brosnan is overrated, and no one can compare to Sean Connery. I may have dressed up as 007 for Halloween when I was eight. Why?”

 

“Do you want to come over? We’re watching _Goldfinger_.”

 

“It’s kind of late, isn’t it?”

 

“So? You can spend the night if you want. I’m sure my dad won’t mind, and you said yourself your parents won’t be home until after you’ve gone to bed.”

 

“I wouldn’t want to impose.”

 

“It wouldn’t be imposing! I promise, we have friends over all the time.”

 

“No, really. You should spend the time with your family. I was just planning to catch up on _Gossip Girl_ and go to sleep anyway.”

 

“Are you sure? I swear you’d be welcome.”

 

“I’m sure. You should go, you don’t want to keep your dad waiting.”

 

His voice is cheery, but it’s in that polite way that Kurt has come to realize is maybe kind of a cover. He doesn’t want to hang up, not like this, but he isn’t left with much of a choice.

 

“Okay. Well, goodnight, then.”

 

“Goodnight, Kurt.”

 

He waits a moment, and so does Blaine. Blaine hangs up first. Kurt doesn’t hold back his sigh, this time.

 

Kurt hurriedly finishes rubbing in the cream that he’s left smeared all over his face, then screws the lids back on the rest. This will have to do for tonight.

 

He changes into pajamas and makes his way downstairs.

 

His dad doesn’t look impressed with him.

 

“Who were you talking to, anyway?” His eyebrows are raised, but he looks like he knows the answer.

 

“Blaine.”

 

His dad nods.

 

“Well, grab a seat, kid.”

 

Kurt settles in at the end of the couch by his dad. Finn isn’t here, he notes. Probably moping in his room or off slaughtering things on Puck’s TV screen.

 

His dad is still looking at him.

 

“What?”

 

“Nothing, nothing. Just – it’s good that you have a friend like him to talk to.”

 

Kurt bites his lip to stop the smile from getting out of control.

 

“Yeah,” he says.

 

When he thinks about his life just over a month ago…

 

Well, it’s a good thing the lights are down, because no one can see the sheen of sudden, unshed tears in his eyes.

 

He wouldn’t go back for anything.


	5. Chapter 5

**2011**

 

He really does come here for the coffee. It’s not exactly _close_ to Dalton, but he’s willing to sacrifice more than just mileage for passable espresso. The fact that there are other perks is merely a coincidence.

 

Like this one, for instance.

 

He watches for a few moments, not at all subtle and not at all trying to be. Gayface McTwinkletoes is far too absorbed in checking his watch every ten seconds to notice him.

 

Alone. What appears to be math homework and some cliché of a magazine stacked messily in front of him. His coffee cup has been shoved to the side, probably empty. He’s been waiting here a long time – stood up, maybe? But that’s probably wishful thinking.

 

Sebastian smiles.

 

“Hey there, Kurt. Where’s your better half?”

 

There’s very little in life that brings Sebastian greater pleasure than the unpleasant grimace that settles over Kurt’s face at the sight of him.

 

“Jesus Christ, can’t you stalk someone else for a change?”

 

Sebastian ignores that. It was a weak rejoinder, not worthy of acknowledgement.

 

“What, did he find something better to do with his afternoon than babysit his boyfriend?”

 

Kurt narrows his eyes.

 

“None of your business.”

 

“Or maybe some _one_?”

 

There’s a pang of something in the cavity of his chest at the image this conjures, but it’s easy to ignore with the hilarious way Kurt puffs up with rage.

 

“God, I hope somebody calls _pest control_ so we can be rid of you once and for all.”

 

“I wouldn’t talk if I were you, Squeaky McGee. Your sad attempt at a McQueen knockoff not only looks like it was constructed by a fleet of sewer rats from the fur of their dearly departed kin, but also does nothing to disguise the fact that, under all the glitter you spray into your hair and the light that flashes ‘gay’ whenever you open your mouth, you’re nothing but a scared little mouse. Stuck here like everyone else, running on that exercise wheel of yours like you think you’re getting somewhere.”

 

He folds his arms across his chest and waits. Kurt opens his mouth, but nothing comes out. One hand is gripping the table with white-knuckled strength. It seems he’s struck a nerve.

 

Checkmate.

 

“At least I’m not on the fast track to contracting syphilis before I’m old enough to vote.”

 

Sebastian snorts. He smiles.

 

“Maybe I’ll call Blaine myself and find out what’s keeping him.”

 

“Go ahead.” Kurt smiles, icily, and leans back in a forced show of relaxation.

 

Sebastian pulls up Blaine’s name on his contacts list and hits “call,” fairly certain that it’s going to go straight to voicemail, based on Kurt’s reaction. No matter.

 

He softens a little when he hears Blaine’s cheery, familiar message, not that he would ever let that show on his face. It’s just so…Blaine.

 

“Hey, rock star. Just calling to see if you’re up for a little pre-Christmas fun this weekend, courtesy of the Warblers. I’m having a little get-together at my place this Saturday night, karaoke and peppermint schnapps provided free of charge. Let me know. The guys are _dying_ to see you.”

 

This last is no exaggeration. They’ve put Blaine up on a pedestal so high he can’t even be seen from the ground. Not that that stops Sebastian.

 

He hangs up.

 

“You’re _high_ if you think we’re going to that party.”

 

He smirks. He can’t help it.

 

“I don’t remember inviting you.”

 

Kurt glares. Sebastian raises a perfectly sardonic eyebrow. A standstill. The tension is thick between them, and things are about to get good, but then they get even better.

 

“Kurt! I am _so_ sorry I’m late. My dad decided he wanted to have an actual conversation, and my phone died, and you haven’t been waiting here for long, have you?”

 

He says it all in an anxious rush, breathless and red-faced from the cold. There’s something about him like this, bright and alive and ever-so-earnest, that draws Sebastian’s eye like a moth to a flame.

 

Blaine still hasn’t noticed him.

 

Kurt smiles, torn between ice-queen bitch mode and something slightly warmer.

 

“It’s fine.”

 

His eyes flick over to Sebastian. Blaine’s gaze follows.

 

“I was keeping him company.”

 

Blaine’s expression does several interesting things at the sight of him. He lights up in that open, friendly way he has, like he can’t help it, but he’s also confused, and startled, and just picking up on that delicious tension. Mostly, though, he smiles.

 

His eyes are big this close, and beautiful as ever, burnished gold peeking up through dark, curling lashes. They sweep prettily down to brush his cheek as he blinks, girlish and lush in a sharp contrast to the masculine line of his jaw. His lips are slightly parted, and slightly wet.

 

There is no molecule in Sebastian’s body right now that isn’t sparked with the desire to fuck him.

 

Goddamn fucking twinkface Hummel.

 

“Sebastian, hi!”

 

“Hey, killer, fancy seeing you here. It’s crazy, I actually just left you a message.”

 

“Oh, yeah?”

 

“You should listen to it and call me. Tonight.”

 

Blaine looks down and away, flustered and trying so hard not to show it.

 

“You were just leaving, weren’t you?” cuts in Kurt, teeth gritted so hard it’s a miracle the sounds make it through at all.

 

Sebastian smiles. He claps a hand on Blaine’s shoulder. The breadth of it feels good beneath his palm.

 

“See ya, Blaine.”

 

Blaine smiles, too, and waves his goodbye. Sebastian takes his cue and turns around. If he maybe goes a little slower than absolutely necessary, well. He doesn’t want to spill his coffee.

 

“What were you guys talking about?” says Blaine, as he settles in his chair.

 

“Oh, nothing. He was just being his smarmy rodent self.”

 

“Kurt.”

 

“I don’t understand why you don’t just tell him to get out of our lives, Blaine.”

 

Blaine lowers his voice, and Sebastian is out of hearing range by now anyway. It doesn’t really matter anyway. He knows why Blaine is playing the game he is, drawing the boundary lines and pulling Sebastian right up to the edge.

 

This thing will be settled once and for all on Saturday night.


	6. Chapter 6

**2012**

 

He was planning to walk in the door and take off his shoes (because his mom will yell at him if he gets mud on the new carpet and Kurt…well, Kurt is Kurt, isn’t he?) and pretty much run upstairs. He’s learned he’s not the greatest at stealth, so speed is definitely his best strategy.

 

Only, he can’t quite bring himself to do it. Kurt is in the kitchen, doing something that seems to require lots of banging around and maybe throwing things. Finn congratulates himself on his plan, because he knows better by now than to get in the way of Kurt’s uncannily awesome aim. He does _not_ hold back. But the thing is, Finn can’t help but think of Kurt’s face this afternoon in the choir room and how he was mad and probably embarrassed but mostly hurt and kind of, sort of, maybe scared. What kind of brother would he be if he walked away from that?

 

So, he kind of wishes that it were still football season and he had an excuse to have his helmet with him, but Finn Hudson is nothing if not brave. He heads cautiously to the kitchen, unprotected.

 

“Hey,” he calls from the doorway. He almost adds on a “dude,” but Kurt’s already mad enough.

 

Kurt doesn’t turn to look at him. His jaw is clenched tight and his hair is actually a little deflated, like he’s been running a hand through it or something.

 

“If you’re here to give me some kind of misguided morality lecture, you can can it.”

 

“No, no, I just wanted to see how you were. See if you wanted to, you know, talk about it. It’s a little early for warm milk, but if you want – ”

 

“That won’t be necessary.”

 

Normally, Finn would be out of here if Kurt used the scary voice on him, but this is different.

 

“What are you making?”

 

“Cheesecake.”

 

“I thought Burt couldn’t have stuff like that. You know, good stuff.”

 

“Well, it’s not _for_ my dad, is it?”

 

“Can I help?”

 

Kurt does look at him then, but it isn’t a particularly nice look. He’s got his eyebrows raised skeptically and his mouth set in what can only be called a grimace.

 

“I don’t know, can you stir the batter without dipping your finger in to taste?”

 

“It was one time, and my hands were clean!”

 

“You can’t just put your fingers in food that other people are going to eat, Finn, it’s unsanitary!”

 

Finn kind of wants to argue more, but he also kind of wants to make Kurt feel better, and he can’t really do both at the same time.

 

“Okay, fine. I promise not to taste the batter. Can I help now?”

 

Kurt hands him a wooden spoon wordlessly. They work in almost-silence for a few minutes, and it’s weird, because usually Kurt is one of those people who won’t shut up. Especially lately, and especially with this week’s assignment. Finn figured he’d be tuning out random Whitney facts that no one cares about all week.

 

He clears his throat.

 

“So, that was kind of weird, today.”

 

“Can we not?”

 

“I just thought you might want to talk about it.”

 

“I didn’t cheat on him, if that’s what you want to know.”

 

“Yeah, you said that. Earlier.”

 

“It is not my fault that my boyfriend has gone insane and decided that _texting_ is an unforgiveable offense.”

 

“Is that really – I mean, did he _say_ that?”

 

‘Cause dude, harsh.

 

“Well, no, but did you _hear_ the song he chose?”

 

His voice has been climbing ever higher throughout the exchange, but now it’s kind of…cracking, too. Finn wants to, like, clap a hand on his shoulder or pat his back or something, but Kurt gets prickly about stuff like that when he’s upset. Once, he actually slapped Finn’s hand away. Lesson learned.

 

“Did you guys talk after?”

 

“You saw how he ran out of the choir room. He won’t pick up his phone or respond to my texts.”

 

“You could try again? Sometimes Rachel just needs some time to cool off before she’s ready to talk to me again.”

 

“Blaine’s not like that.”

 

“Yeah. I mean, it was kind of weird today, seeing him get so mad. Like, he’s always so calm and happy and just…perfect, all the time. Like a robot.”

 

“He’s not perfect.”

 

“No, I know that. But it’s still kind of weird.”

 

“For you and me both,” Kurt mutters. Finn waits, because he doesn’t have anything to say, and he suspects that Kurt does. He’s right. “I mean, I can’t help but feel like there’s something else. He’s blowing this way out of proportion, and he’s _singing_ about it, and he’s been so _weird_ lately. The least he could do is listen when I try to explain.”

 

“Maybe if you actually try to explain instead of just making excuses.” Kurt gives him a sharp look and opens his mouth, indignant, but Finn cuts him off. “Been there, remember?”

 

“But your girlfriends actually cheated on you.”

 

“Dude. Low blow.”

 

“Sorry.”

 

“Besides, it’s totally the same. I mean, I don’t know the details and I don’t know if _I’d_ call it cheating, but I know I’d feel really crappy if Rachel was text-flirting with some guy and didn’t even tell me about it.”

 

Kurt’s gone quiet.

 

“Yeah.”

 

“If you show him you feel bad about it, maybe he’ll listen to you better.”

 

“Maybe.”

 

He doesn’t look at Finn, and he doesn’t say anything else, so Finn doesn’t push it. He tells Kurt about the quiz they’re having in Geography next week, instead, and about helping Rachel get ready for her NYADA audition, and about the Halo cheat codes he just mastered. Kurt remains quiet until the cake is in the oven, responding to Finn with the bare minimum of scoffing and eye-rolling and not much else. It’s okay, though. Finn figures if he were really annoyed, he’d tell Finn to go away.

 

They’re about to start putting things away when Kurt’s phone rings. It’s Blaine’s ringtone, Finn is pretty sure, even though it’s kind of hard to keep track with the way Kurt changes it every, like, two seconds. Kurt freezes, then practically pounces on it where it’s resting on the counter. He takes a breath, turns his back to Finn, then answers.

 

“Hello?”

 

Finn thinks he should probably leave, but he doesn’t. He figures Kurt could use the brotherly support.

 

“What exactly do you want me to _say_?”

 

Ooooh. Not good.

 

“Well, I thought you were calling to _talk_.”

 

Kurt listens for a second then sighs, loudly, tilting his head his head back and, probably, rolling his eyes. It’s a Kurt classic.

 

“This is so stupid. I don’t understand why you’re making such a big deal out of this when I didn’t _do anything wrong_.”

 

Finn is almost expecting it when Kurt stares in disbelief at his phone a second later.

 

“He hung up on me. I can’t believe – he’s _never_ hung up on me.”

 

“Rachel has. I don’t even know how many times. Like, every time we fight.”

 

“So every week, then?”

 

“I’m going to ignore that.”

 

“I just – I don’t know how to get _through_ to him when he’s like this.”

 

“Have you tried listening to him?”

 

“ _Yes_. It isn’t my fault that he isn’t making any sense.”

 

“Maybe if you – ”

 

“No offense, Finn, but you don’t know what you’re talking about. You don’t know him, he isn’t a girl, and _we_ are nothing like you and Rachel, okay? So can you please just help me with the dishes and butt out?”

 

Finn is pretty sure he _should_ take offense at that, but the look on Kurt’s face is kind of breaking his heart.

 

“Whatever you say, dude.”

 

They don’t talk much after that.


	7. Chapter 7

**2013**

 

He gets there early. Callbacks is always busy on a Friday night, and, more than that, always filled to the brim with NYADA students (and sometimes faculty, which is brilliant and hilarious by turns), so it’s no problem finding some people to chat with while he waits. He ends up plonking down at a table of juniors, two of whom are in the Apples with him and the rest of whom helped him flesh out the chorus of last spring’s production of _The Mystery of Edwin Drood_. They’re good for a laugh, and they’re good about rotating turns at the mic. It’s during his (he almost goes for a balladic version of “My Humps,” but ends up deciding on the more traditional “I Want It That Way”) that they arrive.

 

He’s just hitting the last chorus, actually, where he really gets to dig into the emotion of the song, but he’s enough of a professional that he doesn’t let them throw off his game.

 

It’s Kurt and Rachel, of course, and with them is someone that Adam recognizes immediately, despite never having seen so much as a photo. He knew he was coming, Kurt told him (more than once, actually), but he would have known anyway. There’s no one else Adam knows of that can make Kurt’s face do _that_.

 

He’s only a little bit jealous, though he does feel every last bit of it as he watches them together and belts out his last “Tell me why” and starts to wonder if maybe his song selection was a little more a propos than he originally intended.

 

He and Kurt cooled down almost as soon as they started to heat up, so it’s not about being a possessive boyfriend type. It’s just, well, there was hope there for a while, and Adam’s starting to realize it never really went away. Just went…dormant.

 

Anyway, the last of the piano fades away, and Adam takes his applause with a grin. There really is nothing like applause from an audience of peers. It’s one of the things he regrets about coming to such a competitive school – the dearth of that kind of support – but at least they have this, and at least they have liquor enough to make them stop taking themselves so seriously for the night.

 

He steps down to bid his companions farewell and makes his way through the crowd to the table that Kurt and his friends have made theirs.

 

He greets Kurt with a kiss on the cheek, and then Rachel, and then there’s Blaine, holding his hand out with a polite, friendly smile.

 

“You must be Adam,” he says. “You sounded really great up there.”

 

“Thanks.”

 

“This is Blaine,” Kurt supplies, unnecessarily, tongue lingering over the “n.”

 

Adam takes the proffered hand and shakes heartily, careful not to do the stupid macho thing he kind of wants to. He wouldn’t, even if Kurt were something he could fight for, and he’s not. Blaine’s grip is firm but pleasant, and he looks Adam in the eye until they let go. The bloke’s got manners, at least.

 

He’s not exactly sure what he was expecting from Kurt’s infamous ex, but this actually fits pretty closely. He’s got warmth about him, and maturity, and he’s definitely easy on the eyes. His dress sense is very prep school meets geek-chic, very deliberate and carefully considered. He can see why Kurt would be drawn to him.

 

The table is small, so their knees are all touching beneath the table. Adam is between Kurt and Rachel, though not for long, because Rachel is up and at the mic before her drink order has even come through. Her voice is lovely as ever, passionate and strong, but Adam is more interested in what’s going on at the table.

 

“So,” he says. “I hear you’ll be joining us next year.”

 

The “us” is technically stretching the truth, as Adam himself is graduating in a few short weeks, but details, yeah?

 

Kurt and Blaine both smile, carefully not at each other, and Blaine nods cheerfully.

 

“Yeah, I just got my letter last week.”

 

“I brought him with me today so he could see what he was getting himself into.”

 

“And?”

 

“It’s a little…intense, but I definitely think I made the right decision. Kurt’s friends have all been really nice and welcoming.”

 

“They’re just excited to scope out next year’s fresh meat.”

 

Kurt says it with a smile, and his knee nudges against Blaine’s beneath the table. Blaine grins back. There’s a moment lost, there, as they look at each other. Adam resists the urge to clear his throat.

 

“You’ll have to join the Apples. We’re always looking for new members.”

 

Kurt lights up.

 

“He’s right, you’d love it, Blaine! You have to.” He turns to Adam. “He was the lead singer of his school’s a capella group his sophomore year, and the lead in McKinley’s show choir this year, too. He’d be _perfect_.”

 

Blaine is smiling, still, obviously pleased at the praise, but his expression has turned bashful. Suddenly, he looks every bit his eighteen years.

 

“Will I have to audition, or can anyone join?”

 

“With that kind of recommendation, I think they’d let Adolf Hitler in. Besides, getting into NYADA is audition enough, don’t you think?”

 

Blaine asks him a few more questions about the Apples – how they started, where they perform, that sort of thing – and the genuine interest he shows makes it easy for Adam to give him the long version of the story. Blaine tells him stories about the New Directions in return, with frequent interjections from Kurt. The ease between them is obvious, the history easily read in their bodies. They touch each other nearly unconsciously, little touches to arms and elbows and shoulders that linger longer and longer as the night wears on. They look at each other in tandem, share secrets with their eyes.

 

The topic turns, eventually, to Adam’s post-graduation plans, which leads to a classic NYADA debate: West End vs. Broadway. Rachel wraps up her mini set with a deep curtsey and re-joins them just as they get deep into comparing the original cast recordings of _Les Misérables_ , which, of course, turns into a discussion of the movie, and there’s no turning back from there.

 

“They butchered it!” she cries, slamming her fist onto the table hard enough that her poor, neglected drink spills over a bit. “You can’t deny that. I wanted my money back at the end, to be perfectly honest.”

 

Kurt snorts.

 

“Oh, come on. You were crying your eyes out, admit it.”

 

“I will not!”

 

“Well, it was either that or you smeared your mascara all over your face on purpose.”

 

Her jaw drops in indignation, but Blaine pipes up before she can snap back.

 

“Well, I loved it. I might have liked it better than the stage production.”

 

Rachel whips her head around to face him.

 

“Take that back,” she says, dead serious.

 

“I liked that it was stripped back and raw. And no, the actors weren’t perfect Broadway belters, but that wasn’t the point.”

 

“It’s _Les Mis_. What other point is there?”

 

“Uh, communicating through music? Making you _feel_ something? Isn’t that what art is all about?”

 

“I’m with Blaine,” says Kurt, before Rachel has a chance to sputter out her rebuttal. She turns to him, her sense of betrayal written plainly over her face. “Yes, I may have wanted to gouge out my own eardrums whenever Russell Crowe opened his mouth, and no, it didn’t have the sweeping, epic romance of the stage version, but there was something…intimate about it.”

 

“Exactly.”

 

“I mean, it made my _father_ bawl his eyes out.”

 

Blaine laughs, delighted, and Kurt grins at him. There’s another one of those lost moments.

 

Kurt clears his throat and turns back to Adam.

 

“That may be more impressive if you know him. He’s a middle-aged mechanic, if that helps.”

 

“Yeah, you’ve mentioned him before.”

 

“Oh. Right.”

 

“Your father’s opinion doesn’t count, Kurt. He doesn’t know anything about musical theater.”

 

“I don’t know, Rachel, I don’t think you have to know about something to know whether or not it _works_. That’s the point of performing, isn’t it? To connect with people? The fact that the movie made Burt _cry_ proves that they succeeded.”

 

Kurt is smiling at him, soft and warm, like he’s said something very right. Blaine meets his eye. They’re not touching, in this moment, but they might as well be.

 

“Well, it didn’t work for _me_.”

 

There’s a momentary lull, while Rachel sips on her drink and pouts simultaneously and the rest of them watch the tail end of some sophomore’s (Jane? Janet? Jania?) impressive rendition of “All That Jazz.” By the time they’re applauding her big finish, Rachel has recovered from her sulk and is leaning in conspiratorially.

 

“Janice has been abusing that song every week since I did it last fall with Cassie July. I think maybe I’ll go show her how it’s done with a little Barbra.”

 

Blaine hops off of his stool.

 

“I think I’m actually going to go give it a whirl, if you don’t mind.”

 

Kurt turns to him, eyebrows raised.

 

“You’re going to do Barbra?”

 

Blaine laughs, teasing and fond.

 

“No.”

 

“Oh. Um. Okay. Break a leg.”

 

Blaine smiles at him, just for him, and Adam can tell it’s meant to be reassuring. As soon as Blaine’s back is turned, Rachel shifts to friend mode and rubs delicately at Kurt’s shoulder with an encouraging smile.

 

Adam is pretty sure he’s missing something.

 

Blaine puts his name on the list and starts flipping through the songbook almost idly, like he already knows what he’s going to sing but wants to be certain. Kurt and Rachel start a conversation about Santana and her latest antics that Adam only pays half-attention to. Something about a girl named Luisa and a pair of handcuffs. Adam is much more interested in the play of light and shadow over Kurt’s face. It does interesting things to the planes of his cheeks and the color of his eyes.

 

Finally, it’s Blaine’s turn, and Adam might not have noticed if it weren’t for the way Kurt sits up ramrod straight in his chair and zooms in, laser-focused, on the stage. Adam turns to watch.

 

“This song is for a good friend of mine,” says Blaine, a hint of a lopsided smile twisting up his lips. He nods to the pianist on duty.

 

It’s not a song that Adam recognizes right away, but he knows for sure that it isn’t Broadway. It’s fairly fast, with a stripped-down pop-rock feel. Not the kind of thing that you belt to.

 

Blaine keeps the microphone in its stand, one hand wrapped around it as he moves slightly to the rhythm of the music.

 

And then he starts.

 

_You’re such a motivator, gotta get your way_

_So sick of saying yes sir, yes sir…_

 

Kurt talks about Blaine all the time, even more than he probably realizes. He’s built this image in Adam’s head of Blaine as a performer, this larger-than-life image that literally no one could live up to, because it isn’t possible to be that charismatic and that talented at _everything_ , not all at the same time, at least.

 

But Blaine comes pretty close.

 

There’s just…something. His voice is lovely, but Adam hears lovelier voices on a daily basis (Kurt’s included). It’s more about the way his body moves with the music, like he can’t help it, like the music is moving _him_. It’s the way his tongue curls around the words and makes each one feel new. It’s his eyes, his face, just _everything_ about him, brighter than the stage lights and full of joy.

 

Kurt can’t seem to take his eyes off him. And Blaine is looking right back.

 

_…Your body rocking, keep me up all night_

_One in a million_

_My lucky strike_.

 

Kurt visibly _shivers_. His eyes have been growing gradually wider as he stares, rapt, at the stage.

 

The crowd is into it, too, drawn together and drawn to Blaine in a way they haven’t been to anyone else tonight, and he plays to all of them until they’re putty in his hands.

 

He always comes back around to Kurt.

 

_Got me so high, and then he dropped me_

_But he got me, he got me, he got me bad_

_Took me inside and then he rocked me_

_He keep me up all night, this is what it sounds like_ …

 

There’s something almost predatory about the way Kurt’s eyes are tracking him now. His pupils are blown wide, his breath shallow. He licks his lips.

 

Blaine meets his eyes, and he grins, eyes sparkling wickedly beneath the lights. Adam feels suddenly like he and about 150 other patrons are intruding on something private.

 

The feeling doesn’t go away after Blaine takes his bow, when he returns to the table and asks, casually, “So, what did you think?” and doesn’t even bother to glance at anyone but Kurt.

 

“I think…” says Kurt, voice breathy, equally tunnel-visioned. “I think I’d like to get some air.”

 

“Oh, yeah,” says Blaine, hurriedly. “Me too.”

 

“Anyone want to join? No?”

 

He grabs Blaine by the hand and practically drags him in a direction that Adam is pretty sure doesn’t lead to the front door.

 

He turns to Rachel.

 

“What was _that_?”

 

She gives him a look that he can’t quite decipher, but that he’s pretty sure adds up to pity.

 

“It’s probably better not to ask.”

 

“But it isn’t just me, yeah? They’re definitely off to fuck in the men’s room?”

 

She raises her eyebrows in a show of shock, but she nods.

 

“Probably.”

 

“That’s a little…”

 

“Insane?”

 

“I was thinking, ‘out of character.’ I didn’t know their relationship…included those kinds of benefits.”

 

“Yes, well, I find it easier to be supportive if I don’t know the details.”

 

“Right. Maybe I should go.”

 

“No! Please don’t make me the third wheel. They’ll be all gross and smirky all night – do you really want to subject me to that alone?”

 

 _Do you really want to subject me to that at all?_ he thinks but doesn’t say. She gives him her best pleading doe eyes.

 

“Alright. I’ll stay.”

 

It’s an uncomfortably long time before they return. He and Rachel spend it watching the performers and critiquing them in generally opposite ways. It’s actually pretty fun, making her fume over his praise of Melissa Eckelstein’s rendition of “My Man.”

 

It’s obvious what they’ve been doing when they return.

 

They’re both flushed a little red. Kurt’s hair has recently been restyled, and Blaine’s has broken free of the tight-fisted control of his gel. Their clothes are impeccably in place, but for Kurt’s scarf draped around Blaine’s neck in a way that entirely clashes with his outfit. They’re both smiling, pleased with themselves and, probably, each other. Kurt has a hand planted between Blaine’s shoulder blades that Adam is fairly certain migrates to his thigh when they’re once again seated.

 

Rachel’s assessment of the situation was entirely accurate. They keep _looking_ at each other, just short little looks, but it’s like the dam has broken. There’s nothing left to hide. Their feelings are laid out plainly on their faces.

 

Adam wants to tell them to get out of here, go find the room they’re obviously desperate for, and get it out of their systems, because it is genuinely not fun to watch. At least Rachel is there, suffering with him.

 

Eventually, Kurt stands up again.

 

“My turn,” he says. His voice is low and flirty, and he’s looking right at Blaine. Blaine raises his eyebrows and smirks.

 

“Let’s hear it.”

 

Adam leans in toward Rachel, confident that Blaine won’t even register that they’re there long enough to notice them.

 

“If this just another excuse for them to eye-fuck across a crowded room, I’m out of here.”

 

She giggles and clings to his arm, but he was actually serious. File that under “Things I Never Need to See.”

 

It’s not quite that.

 

It’s not a style that Adam has ever heard Kurt sing before, strong in his low range, poppier than his usual tastes.

 

Maroon 5. Again. Adam is sensing a theme.

 

 _Here I am waiting, you’ll have to leave soon_ …

 

The lyric change is not lost on Adam. It’s pretty obvious who this is about, not that he had doubts.

 

Blaine, across the table from him, is inscrutable but for the complicated affection shining from his eyes.

 

_…And when the daylight comes you’ll have to go_

_But tonight I’m gonna hold you so close_

_Cause in the daylight we’ll on our own_

_But tonight I need to hold you so close…_

 

And this is what makes Kurt so very special, because there’s undeniably genuine _feeling_ in his voice, that kind that gives empty words life. He’s still but for the small, unconscious movements of his body with the swells and the falls of the music. The power in him is clean, focused, controlled, beaming out only where he sends it.

 

He doesn’t bother looking at anyone else. Blaine might as well be the only person in the room.

 

_Here I am staring at your perfection_

_In my arms, so beautiful…_

 

Blaine is barely moving. He’s biting down on his lips, eyes wide and glassy and drinking in the song like it’s a tall glass of water and he’s been parched for years.

 

Adam can hardly blame him. If it were Kurt singing this song to him, with that look in his eyes, that fierce, hectic sort of tenderness… Well, he’d probably be just as overwhelmed.

 

_…But tonight I need to hold you so close…_

 

As he watches, it starts to dawn on him.

 

There have always been these puzzle pieces of Kurt that never really fell into place, things he kept close to the chest and covered with a bland smile. Adam knew there was a bad break-up, of course – it was one of the first things Kurt told him on their first date. He knew that Kurt was still friends with ex, close friends, even. He knew that there were still feelings there that Kurt was conflicted about. He knew that Kurt wasn’t ready to date anyone else with any kind of seriousness, and he knew that, because of all of these things, but especially because of this last, the two of them would be better off as friends.

 

It isn’t so much the things that Kurt’s _said_ as much as the things he’s so carefully kept quiet…

 

_I never wanted to stop because I don’t wanna start all over, start all over_

_I was afraid of the dark but now it’s all that I want, all that I want, all that I want…_

 

He never really got that Kurt was still in love with his ex.

 

And, god, but it’s so clear now that Kurt has never really even _tried_ to get over Blaine. He _wants_ to be in love with him.

 

Suddenly, as much as he adores watching Kurt perform, and as much as he doesn’t want to trap Rachel alone with the two of them, he wants to get out of here even more.

 

So he does. Kurt will understand. If he even notices.


	8. Chapter 8

**2014**

 

Blaine is already home, curled up on the couch and humming quietly to the sheet music in his hand. Thank god. It’s been the _longest_ day.

 

He looks up and gives Kurt a smile in greeting that Kurt returns to the best of his ability.

 

“Honey, I’m home,” he says sardonically, as he starts pulling off his light spring layers.

 

“Bad day, huh?”

 

“The worst.”

 

“Tell me about it?”

 

He pats the cushion next to him with an inviting smile, and Kurt flops himself down with a lack of grace that he would normally be embarrassed about. He leans in to rest his cheek against Blaine’s shoulder. Blaine tilts his head down to look him sideways in the eye.

 

“Hi.”

 

Kurt smiles, bigger and more real, now that he has something to smile about, and leans up just enough that Blaine gets the picture. They meet in the middle for a lazy kiss, and the angle isn’t great, but it’s what Kurt needed.

 

“So?”

 

“Ugh. It’s just one of those days, you know? I keep messing up the bridge on that solo piece that Madam Tibideaux has me working on, and I’m disappointing her, I can tell, and Peterson kept me for _twenty minutes_ after class to work on my _plié_ of all things, and it threw off my whole schedule so badly that I didn’t even have time for lunch, and my scene partners – you know, for that group project I was telling you about? They suck. They’re a bunch of divas who can’t take direction and don’t know how to give it, and it’ll be a miracle if we don’t fail the whole thing.”

 

He already feels better just from getting it out, and from the feeling of Blaine’s arm around his back and his fingers stroking at his shoulder.

 

“You’ll figure it out,” murmurs Blaine soothingly. “You just need a break, and some rest.”

 

Kurt sighs and lets himself slump even further into Blaine’s body.

 

“I know.”

 

“How would you feel about take-out and a _Top Model_ marathon?”

 

“Will there be cheesecake?”

 

“Obviously.”

 

“Well then, I say make it happen, oh captain of mine.”

 

Blaine grins down at him, and it turns into a kiss, and then another, longer and deeper, until finally he pulls away with a groan.

 

“Okay,” he says. “Making cheesecake happen now.”

 

He stands up and heads toward the bedroom area in search of his laptop.

 

“I like a man who knows his priorities,” Kurt calls as he flops back against the cushions. He closes his eyes and tips his head back. “I can’t believe we just had spring break. I already feel like I need another vacation.”

 

“Summer’s just around the corner, and then we’ll have three whole months.”

 

Kurt hums his agreement. Summer feels awfully far away, but the thought of it is heavenly right now.

 

“Hey, where are Rachel and Santana, anyway? They’re usually home by now.”

 

“Santana has a date with a girl from work – she was really excited about it, it was super cute – but I haven’t seen Rachel all day. You should check my phone, though. I might have forgotten to take it off silent after this morning’s lecture.”

 

His voice is getting closer, and, therefore, so is he, so Kurt generously leans forward and clears off a spot on the coffee table, grabbing Blaine’s phone as does so.

 

“You know I really hate when you do that.”

 

“I know.”

 

He presses a smacking kiss to Kurt’s cheek and settles beside him on the couch once more, leaning forward and waiting for his computer to boot up. Kurt gets past Blaine’s lock screen and turns the volume up to normal before checking his messages.

 

“Anything from Rachel?”

 

“Not a thing. I bet she’s out with that guy from Movement – you know, the one we think is gay but that Rachel keeps insisting is flirting with her.”

 

“Ryan something?”

 

“No idea. Hey, you did miss a couple from Cooper.”

 

“Probably just wants to know if I think he’s tan enough to be on _Days of Our Lives_. Darlene – you know, his agent – she got him an audition and he’s been freaking out all week.”

 

“Let’s see. Nope, you’re way off. He wants to know if should get his teeth chemically whitened.”

 

“Oh, my god, seriously? Again?”

 

“There’s a picture attached for your consideration.”

 

“Of course.”

 

“He also wants you to call him about…wait, what?”

 

He squints, as if that will help the words on the screen make sense.

 

_CALL ME ASAP, little bro! I can’t believe you’re going to be a MOVIE STAR!!!_

 

It hits him all at once. It’s been two weeks since LA and the audition, the one Cooper set up without Blaine’s knowledge and bullied him into as a thin excuse for brotherly bonding. There was a callback, too, a screen test or whatever it’s called, but Blaine wrote it off as a good learning experience and hasn’t mentioned it since. Still…

 

“Blaine, did Darlene call you today?”

 

Blaine pauses and turns around to face Kurt, laptop forgotten. His expression is complicated, and difficult to read through Kurt’s sudden attack of anxiety.

 

“I was going to tell you after the cheesecake.”

 

“And?”

 

“I got it.”

 

It takes Kurt a moment to absorb the news, not only because it’s so big, and not only because he’s been caught off-guard, but because Blaine is more wary than excited.

 

“Blaine. That’s amazing. I can’t – you _got the part_? That’s – you’re going to be in a movie with _George Clooney_ , oh my god. You’re going to be in a _movie_. _Blaine_. I just – ”

 

Kurt is aware that his voice has gone to that high and squeaky place, but he honestly doesn’t care. He throws his arms around Blaine and pulls him close, trying to communicate with his body and his _soul_ how thrilled and proud he is, now that the words have run out.

 

Blaine’s response is tepid at best. Kurt pulls back.

 

“Why aren’t you celebrating with me?”

 

“It’s just – there are a few things we should talk about.”

 

He’s got the big, earnest eyes, and Kurt can’t find it in him to be frustrated. He grabs Blaine’s hand in his.

 

“Like the fact that you are absolutely taking me to set every day so that we can become best friends with George Clooney and score invites to his Italian villa for the rest of the summer?”

 

Blaine smiles, like he can’t quite help it, and squeezes his hand.

 

“Not exactly. It’s that whole summer thing, actually.”

 

“Well, summer in LA wouldn’t exactly be my first choice, of course, but slather me up with enough sunblock and I’ll live. Ooh, and maybe Isabelle can get me a summer internship at the LA office!”

 

“Kurt, wait. Can you just listen for a second?”

 

His voice is sharp at the edges. Kurt blinks. He nods, also sharp. He’s trying very hard not to be affronted. He doesn’t let himself pull his hand away. Blaine is looking at him, searchingly, like he’s waiting for something.

 

“The movie is shooting earlier than we thought. A lot earlier.”

 

“When would you have to go?”

 

“Next week.”

 

Kurt feels all of his excitement drain right away. From the look on his face, Blaine can see it happen.

 

“But that’s – I mean, that’s completely ridiculous. You’re halfway through the semester, Blaine, they can’t expect you to drop everything and move across the country for the next three months.”

 

“They’re not going to rearrange their shooting schedule for my convenience, Kurt. That’s not how it works.”

 

“I know that.”

 

He’s not sure what’s going on here, exactly, but dread is starting to unfurl in his chest. Blaine is waiting, still, for something that Kurt may not be able to give.

 

“What did you tell her?” he asks instead. He’s proud of the way he keeps his voice steady and calm.

 

“I told her I needed to talk to you about it.”

 

“I’m not leaving in the middle of the semester, Blaine.”

 

“I wouldn’t expect you to.”

 

He’s so _calm_ about this. Kurt snatches his hand away.

 

“I can’t believe you’re even considering it. You’re really willing to throw away _two months_ of work and an entire semester’s tuition?”

 

“It’s not like I’d be doing it for free. And NYADA will still be here when I’m done.”

 

“I can’t – have you even talked to Madam Tibideaux about this? Do you even know the school’s policy on taking leave?”

 

“Not yet, but – ”

 

“What if they don’t just let you back in in the fall, Blaine? What if you’re just tossing aside your education at the country’s most prestigious musical theater program?”

 

“Okay, you’re sounding a little crazy right now, Kurt. People do this kind of thing all the time.”

 

“Yes, okay, fine, for stints on _Broadway_. You have to see that it’s not the same.”

 

“Why _not_?”

 

“It’s a _movie_ , Blaine.”

 

“That’s – Kurt, film acting is a perfectly legitimate art form, you know that.”

 

“No, film acting is for people who aren’t talented enough to cut it on stage, and/or attention whores who want the exposure.”

 

“You’re being ridiculous! Just two seconds ago, you were drooling over George Clooney’s Italian villa!”

 

“It’s _George Clooney_ , Blaine, of course I was drooling! But he’s not worth damaging your career over!”

 

“Damaging my career? Really? You think co-starring in a movie with George Clooney would _damage my career_?”

 

“Well, I guess not if your goal is to be a _movie star_. But I thought you were _better_ than that. I thought you were at NYADA for a _reason_.”

 

The anger in Blaine’s eyes flares and then dims. There’s silence for a moment, while Kurt teeters on the edge of triumph and shame.

 

“I thought so, too.”

 

And there’s that dread again, fully bloomed.

 

“What do you mean?”

 

“I don’t know, I guess… I just thought it would be different. There’s so much emphasis on technique and just…the mechanics of it all, I guess. It feels kind of…empty.”

 

“What, you were expecting us all to hold hands and sing ‘Don’t Stop Believing’? Believe it or not, singing is about more than just vomiting your feelings onto a stage.”

 

“There’s no need for condescension, Kurt. This just – it isn’t why I perform.”

 

Blaine is doing that thing where he pleads with his eyes, but Kurt is too far gone to care. There are too many hot, unpleasant emotions shooting up, down, every which way beneath his skin, and it’s all he can do to keep from bleeding them out all over the floor. He’s afraid of what he’d see if he did.

 

“Is this because you didn’t get an invitation to sing at Winter Showcase?” he bites out. “You figure you’re not in the _spotlight_ here, you’ll just find it somewhere else?”

 

“ _No_ , Kurt. _I’m_ not the one who cares about the spotlight!”

 

“Then why are you leaving me and our friends and everything you’ve worked for to go sell yourself out with _George fucking Clooney_?”

 

Blaine stares at him like he’s been wounded, shot in the gut and bleeding out, and still looking Kurt square in the eye.

 

“It can’t have escaped your attention that I’ve been unhappy.”

 

It has.

 

Kurt says nothing, because there’s nothing more to say, and because there’s a lump clawing up his throat and he doesn’t trust his own voice.

 

Blaine waits. Still, Kurt says nothing.

 

Blaine inhales, sharply, in the realization of defeat. He gets up, goes to the door, pulls on his outside layers with shaky hands and a clenched jaw.

 

“I’m out of here,” he says, redundantly. “I’m done.”

 

He walks out the door.

 

&&&&&

 

The loft is quiet when he slides the door open. It’s a strange mirror image of earlier, Kurt on the couch with a book in his hand that Blaine can tell he isn’t really reading. He’s got his comfort hoodie on, the one he wears when he’s feeling homesick or when he’s studying for finals. It’s the only evidence that he’s moved at all since Blaine left.

 

“Hey,” says Blaine. It’s inadequate as a greeting, but Kurt isn’t looking at him, and Blaine doesn’t know where they stand.

 

Kurt turns around at that, and Blaine moves toward him, drawn like a magnet.

 

He’s been crying. It’s clear in the swollen redness of his eyes and the traces of tear tracks still glimmering on his cheeks. He hasn’t even tried to hide it.

 

“Blaine.”

 

It’s choked off and nearly whispered, betraying every last ounce of his misery.

 

Blaine moves to sit next to him on the couch. He’s careful not to touch, not yet, no matter how much he wants to. This time, they’re going to talk.

 

“Kurt, I – ”

 

“Blaine, I’m so sorry, you have to know that. I didn’t mean it, whatever I said – I don’t even remember, I just know that I didn’t mean it.”

 

“I know.”

 

 “I love you, and I’m proud of you, and I’m such a _bitch_ when I fight with you.”

 

“It’s okay, Kurt. Honest. I know you’re just…protecting yourself.”

 

“It’s _not_ okay, I said _horrible_ things. I always do when I’m – ”

 

He cuts himself off. Tears start leaking out the corners of his eyes, but he doesn’t look away. Blaine can’t take it anymore. He reaches out and cups Kurt’s cheek in his palm, soothing away the tears as they fall.

 

“I told you, sweetheart, I get it. That doesn’t make it any less unpleasant to hear, but…I forgave you for all of that the second I walked out the door.”

 

“ _Blaine_.”

 

“Can we please talk about this? Really talk.”

 

Kurt sniffs. He blinks away the last of the tear droplets clinging to his lashes. He musters up a faint, relieved smile.

 

“Yes.”

 

“I want this, Kurt. I really do.”

 

He nods.

 

“I know.”

 

“I might end up hating it, but I don’t think I will.”

 

“That’s what I’m afraid of.”

 

“What do you mean?”

 

Kurt looks at him for a moment, quietly, then shifts his gaze away.

 

“Have you really been unhappy here?”

 

“A little. More…unsatisfied.”

 

“Help me understand?”

 

Blaine smiles, in spite of the heaviness between them. It’s the first time Kurt’s ever asked him something like that. There’s so much of Blaine that Kurt seems to understand instinctively – they both tend to assume that there’s nothing that he doesn’t. Blaine reaches out a hand in offer. Kurt takes it.

 

Blaine mulls over his thoughts for a moment, turning the words around in his mouth until the right ones make themselves known. He strokes his thumb half-consciously over Kurt’s knuckles.

 

“I’ve always loved performing because of that feeling, you know? When you’re on stage and everything falls away until it’s just you and the audience and that…connection.”

 

“Yeah.”

 

“It’s like, they’re _listening_ , you know? And you have to listen to them, too. I love that.”

 

Kurt looks at him, eyes keen, like they’re seeing more than Blaine is showing. He nods.

 

“And…you don’t get that here?”

 

He’s trying so hard to understand. Blaine forces himself to hold his gaze.

 

“I don’t like feeling like I have to prove myself every time I open my mouth. I don’t like that the only reason people listen here is to find something to criticize.”

 

“The point is to help you get _better_ , Blaine, and stronger, so you have a fighting chance at surviving in the real world.”

 

“I know that, I do. That doesn’t mean I like it.”

 

“I didn’t either, at first. I spent the entire first month feeling woefully inadequate.”

 

Kurt’s never told him this before. It was during that awkward how-close-is-too-close phase of their post-break-up friendship, when they talked to each other twice a week and never touched each other’s vulnerabilities.

 

“And then?”

 

“I don’t know, I guess I just stopped taking it personally and decided to let it motivate me instead. If they weren’t going to give me the accolades I deserved, I’d _earn_ them. It’s pushed me to be a better performer.”

 

His back has gone straighter, his eyes bright and fierce, and _this_ is the Kurt that Blaine has been so drawn to since the day they met. He has always been a boy who is unwilling to go unheard. He thrives, here.

 

It’s one of the many ways in which they are very different people.

 

But Blaine has come to realize that, perhaps, this is not something to be ashamed of. He steels himself one more time.

 

“I don’t know if I _want_ to be the kind of performer they want me to be.”

 

Kurt opens his mouth, closes it, breathes in shaky and sharp. His voice is careful when he speaks.

 

“What kind of performer do you want to be?”

 

“I…don’t actually know. But I know I’ll regret it if I don’t try and find out.”

 

Kurt seems to deflate. Blaine squeezes his hand. Kurt squeezes back.

 

“I’m so sorry I didn’t see it.”

 

“Don’t apologize for that. It’s not your job to read my mind.”

 

“Then I’m sorry for making you feel like you couldn’t talk to me about it.”

 

“It’s not your fault.”

 

“Okay, you’ve got to let me apologize for something.”

 

A smile turns up the corners of his lips. Blaine returns it.

 

“Okay, you can apologize for implying that I’m a sell-out attention whore.”

 

“Oh, god, I’m _so_ sorry, you have to know I would never mean that.”

 

“I know, Kurt, I know.”

 

“I was just so – so _scared_.”

 

“Scared?”

 

“Blaine, you’re going to be gone for _three months_.”

 

“You’ll be so busy with school that you won’t even notice.”

 

“ _No_. You don’t get to say things like that.” The tears have sprung up once more, giving his eyes a glassy sheen that just about breaks Blaine’s heart. “You know I – Blaine, I can’t lose you.”

 

 _Not again_ is left unspoken.

 

“You won’t. I promise. It’s just three months, and we’re so much _better_ now. It won’t be like before, it can’t be. We won’t let it.”

 

“What if – ” Kurt’s gone soft and choked off, like the words are too heavy for his voice to carry. “What if you don’t come back?”

 

“What?”

 

“What if you love it there, and you want to stay, and I can’t come with you, because I’m here, and I belong here, and – Blaine, I’m just so scared that you’ll _leave_.”

 

Blaine’s heart, and his lungs, and just everything inside him contracts with pain and with love, and he can’t waste another second not _touching_ him. He takes his hand gently from Kurt’s iron grip and takes hold of his face instead, thumbs brushing against his cheekbones. He can feel the skid of his heartbeat beneath the fragile skin of his temples. Kurt is looking at him so helplessly.

 

“I would never. Kurt, I won’t, I promise. I don’t care how much I love it, I could never love it more than I love you.”

 

“ _Blaine_.”

 

And then they’re pressed tightly together, bodies fitting with the ease of long practice. Blaine’s face is buried into the slope of Kurt’s neck, his own tears welling up and plopping to Kurt’s skin under the force of too much emotion. Kurt’s fingers are digging into his back, almost hard enough to hurt. They are, both of them, silent.

 

It’s after long minutes spent breathing together that Kurt murmurs, “I really am so proud of you, Blaine.”

 

“I know.”

 

“I want everything for you.”

 

“I know that, too.”

 

“What if – ”

 

“We’ll figure it out.”

 

Kurt sniffs.

 

“Okay.”

 

Another long beat. Their bodies have settled into each other, now. Kurt’s grip has relaxed enough to feel more like comfort than desperation. They’ve weathered this storm, battered but sturdy, and ready to re-build stronger than ever.

 

Blaine turns his head and presses a kiss into Kurt’s skin, slightly salty where tear tracks have carved through the hollows left by tendon and bone. He smells clean, like him and like the air after a rain shower. He sighs, softly, and tilts his head down to nuzzle into Blaine’s hair.

 

Blaine pulls back just enough to be heard.

 

“Did you still want cheesecake?”

 

Kurt laughs.

 

“Maybe in a little while.”

 

Blaine smiles.

 

“Okay.”

 

They’ve got time, after all.


End file.
